THE SAILOR

S RETURN. 121

battlements worked in fantastic Aint mosaics, all rosy
now with the setting sun, and all alive with the flight
of noisy daws, that wheeled round and round it, with
their petulant “jackle, jackle,” ere they retired to roost.
He skirted the green mound, called a battery, where
three or four rusty old guns stood silent and sulky,
serving only as gymnastic apparatus for the boys, and
their insides half filled with shingle stones, which had
been chucked into them, symbols of a people that dwell
careless, after the manner of the Zidonians, But he saw

nothing, heard nothing, till under the shadow of the

stunted trees, which grew at the end of the bridge, he saw

Ta

while she staggered, half fainting, to a chair, and from
that day she had not seen him, nor heard from him, or of
him.

Conscious of her own rectitude, she could not under-
stand this sudden blow; nor did she comprehend it till
some gossiping neighbour informed her of what Robert
Girdle had been saying about her. Then she realized
the full extent of her sorrow—her husband had cast her
off. Could she but see him, or write to him, she was!
sure she could explain all, but neither course was open
to her. Was it likely that the old Runeckles knew what

had become of their son? If she wrote to them, she|

THE RETURN,

Mary holding the hand of a stranger, and overheard her
saying in low, but earnest tones, “ You must not come to |
my house again; he’s come home.”

This was enough for him; he said nothing, his counte- |
nance did not change, it had changed too much already,
but he turned round, walked quickly to his own house,
made up a small bundle, slung it over his shoulder, and
went out again. At the docr he met his wife coming
hastily in. He looked sternly at her. She put her hand |
upon his arm, saying, “ William! What is the matter?” |
He shook her off, exclaimed, “ Woman, may you be as
miserable as you have made me,” and strode swiftly away, |

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should not be able to explain her case so fully as sh
wished; and therefore, at the very first oppcrtunity, sh
set out with little Polly to see them.

Could they tell where William was ?

No, they did not even know tliat he had returned from

&
e

his previous voyage.

So Mary told them all her sorrow; and what they
thought of her tale may be inferred from the fact that
they took the poor broken-hearted thing to live with
them, and had kept her at the farm ever since.

Several months had now elapsed, and nothing had been
heard of William, only they guessed naturally that he

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